


Give me a war I don't want to fight

by iwantsaturdaynow (eclipse_0206)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Edge of Tomorrow Fusion, Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Death of major characters but only temporarily, Death of minor characters, Gen, I promise, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soldier! Everybody really, Soldier! Viktor, Swearing, Time Loop, Time Travel, soldier! yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclipse_0206/pseuds/iwantsaturdaynow
Summary: Apparently, you can die more than once. Yuuri finds this out the hard way. An Edge of Tomorrow/All You Need is Kill – AUor“Operation Downfall” was supposed to be humanity's end game in the war against mimics, alien creatures hell bent on conquering the Earth. Yuuri Katsuki quickly finds out that what “Operation Downfall” truly is, is the death sentence of hundreds of thousands of soldiers of the United Defense Force sent to the battle front. In a freak accident, he gains the ability to reset the day through his own death. Unsure what to do with his newly acquired power, he stumbles through time loops until Viktor Nikiforov, his childhood hero, helps him fully utilize it in the fight to end the war.How many people will believe you when you tell them you can reset time? How many deaths can one person take before their mind breaks? How many resets does it take for a person to fall in love with somebody that will never remember them when they wake up?Yuuri finds the answers to those questions, and many more, the hard way.





	Give me a war I don't want to fight

**Author's Note:**

> _italics_ \- thoughts, speech in a non-English language
> 
> [Edge of Tomorrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUmSVcttXnI) aka. _Live Die Repeat_ is a movie about humanity's last collective effort to destroy mimics, an alien race hell-bent on conquering the Earth. Major William Cage, a PR officer with no combat experience, is demoted and sent to join the army on their mission to save the planet. The whole operation goes south very quickly and Cage ends up dead. Not for long. In a freak accident, he gains the ability to reset the time to the day before the battle every time he dies. 
> 
> The movie is a loose adaptation of the Japanese light novel _All you need is kill_ with a similar premise but which plays out in the military base on the Kotouishi Island off the coast of Japan and not in Europe. 
> 
> I recommend watching the movie just for the entertainment factor and Emily Blunt. Look at [this](https://writerslifttoo.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/giphy.gif?w=636). She's my hero.

Yuuri wakes up gasping for breath to the familiar sight of Viktor Nikiforov smiling at him.

With his heartbeat loud in his ears, he hears the rattling of thousands of machine guns being fired around him, sees flashes of explosions, hears the high pitch of bullets whizzing past his head, feels the heat of fire on his face and remembers _screams._ He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to physically stave away the visions. He takes a few shaky breaths.

_It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s too much._

It’s not the first time his mind conjures scenes of deaths prior to combat, but this dream is horrifyingly detailed and vivid. Oversaturated colors. Cacophony of sounds. Yuuri swears he can still smell the smoke; recalls the scent of something else, something like burning meat. His stomach lurches. He shoots up scrambling out of his bed to the only sink in the room. The edge of the sink digs painfully into his stomach as he heaves, spit and bile splattering into the sink while Yuuri stands there panting, thanking the deities, Buddha and anybody else who is listening  that he didn’t eat a lot last night.

He stands there for a moment longer trying to slow down his breathing before turning on the tap, splashing water onto his face. He briefly looks at himself in the mirror and his mouth twists into something unpleasant. He looks awful.  He takes a few gulps of water swishing the cool liquid in his mouth to wash away the taste of bile, spits it out and turns off the water. Yuuri stumbles back to his bunk bed, throwing himself face down unmoving until he has to roll over to take a breath. He wipes away the remnants of the water on his face with the edge of his sleeve.

He is greeted once more with the sight of Viktor’s smile.

Long silver hair thrown over a shoulder, arms around a large brown poodle, his childhood idol stares back from a small poster that Yuuri secretly keeps in the upper right-hand corner of the underside of the bunk bed above him. He has it ever since his time at the Japanese base. It used to hang in his room back in Hasetsu, right above his desk. Yuuri can recall that quiet clearly even though it feels like a lifetime ago.

He remembers not thinking of the poster as he packs his duffel bag, or when he hugs Vicchan and murmurs into his fur to keep their home safe—certainly doesn’t think of it as he hugs his family goodbye, or when he watches their figures disappear in the distance as the train takes him away from the only place he called home. He doesn’t think of the poster but he thinks of Viktor quiet often. Viktor who used to be his ice skating hero and later becomes the Hero of Hasetsu, nearly single-handedly saving the town from being razed into the ground by a swarm of raging mimics.

So it is a surprise when he finds the small poster included with the last letter his sister sends him before civilian postal services stopped running regularly due to the heightened risk of mimic attack. The poster traveled with him from his home base in Kotouishi through his stint in Manila with EADF before arriving in Europe. It’s a piece of home, like the photos of his family. An incriminating piece of evidence, one that he hopes to all things sacred that Phichit never finds out about, but a piece of home nonetheless.

He and his family still take time to catch up over Skype. This many years into the war, the contact is regulated by strict hours and army protocol, but every minute is worth it, just to see his family, hear their voices, and solidify his belief that he is doing something that _matters._ He can’t share a lot of things, but they like to talk about Hasetsu and like to hear him describe the weather, army base food, Phichit’s latest shenanigans.  Sometimes Yuuko is also there, her smile always slightly hesitant at the beginning as if she is still waiting for him to lash out, waits for the other shoe to drop. It never does. He wants to tell her it never will. Seeing the triplets growing up warms his heart, makes it worth it, _everything_ worth it. He wants to tell her, wants to reassure her but he doesn’t think he has the right words. Nishigori-kun is sometimes with her and he makes up for all the silences of their childhood in the span of their allotted ten minutes.

He doesn’t receive any more letters from home for a full year. The calls are enough but he doesn’t realize he misses reading them, not until Minako-sensei arrives at the Heathrow UDF base, hopping off of the plane even before it touches down properly, a backpack carelessly slung over her shoulder. He stands at full attention, gives her a formal salute. In true Minako fashion, she responds by throwing a packet of letters at his face. He reacts purely on instinct but still fumbles to catch them. He looks at them and back at Minako marveling at how little she has changed.

She gives him a once over, smiling warmly. “Looking good there, kiddo.” She slings her arm over his shoulder and pulls him away, even as other soldiers on the plane start disembarking and unloading. Yuuri relaxes in her grip and just for a moment wishes that they were walking back to Yu-topia and not to the barracks thousands of kilometers away from what he considered home.  

The letters come in mismatched envelopes. He reverently reads over the messages written in the tidy hand writing of his mother, his father’s wobbly letters, the sharp edges of his sister’s penmanship, the slightly bubbly letters of Yuuko, and crayon smudges courtesy of the triplets. Nishigori always ends his letters with a _Don’t die_ and Yuuri appreciates the sentiment.

Yuuri blinks away the memories as his eyes slide past the photo of his family and the Nishigoris to the other poster he keeps above him. Adult Viktor stares at him from the UDF recruitment poster. Nikiforov is in his trademark black and blue N-exosuit. State of the ( _war)_ art jacket technology. Model I. The prototype version. Before the program had to be downgraded to accommodate the mass production and the limited training of the soldiers to be put inside of them. Yuuri marvels at how cold Nikiforov’s eyes look, the same blue as his younger counterpart’s yet so different. There is confidence in the set of his shoulders and the sharp edges of his clenched jaws. Gone is the long hair, the softness replaced by pure steel and resolve. Yuuri reaches out with one hand to trace the poster. He still feels queasy from his dream but his heart has calmed down.

The nightmare seemed so real that he can’t shake off a strong feeling of dread. He remembers fighting mimics alongside Phichit and a few other people. He recalls the metallic hissing of the alien creature passing over his head and lashing out with its arms. He wonders whether Viktor ever gets nightmares before battles. His thoughts are cut short when a figure barrels into the room, the only warning he gets is the hiss of the automatic doors sliding open.

“Oh, Yuuuuuri!” his roommate drags out his name in a singsong voice. “You better be fully awake and ready for some three star Michelin breakfast. Chop, chop!

Yuuri lets out a snort. He tentatively sits up, placing his feet firmly on the ground, the dream forcefully pushed to the back of his mind to stew over later. His stomach lurches slightly but otherwise he feels much better. Phichit peeks his head around the bunk bed.

“Next thing you’re going to say is that the brass is treating us to spa and full body massages.”

His roommate laughs, sitting down on the lower bunk bed across from him, putting his chin in both hands staring back with piercing brown eyes. Yuuri gets up to make his bed, runs his hand through his hair to get rid of his bed-head and walks back towards the sink. He feels his friend’s gaze following him but ignores the prickling at the back of his neck.

“What do you think we should expect for breakfast today?” the Thai finally breaks the silence just as Yuuri reaches towards his toothbrush and dispenses some tooth paste on it.

“The same thing we’ve been having for the last six days would be a good guess, no?” Yuuri says, before brushing his teeth and washing away the final traces of bile on his tongue.

Phichit hums thoughtfully, looking for all the world as if he is thinking over carefully what Yuuri just told him. Yuuri stares at his friend through the mirror, watching his profile— the way his nose slopes down ending in a round button, cheeks that have finally lost the last of the baby fat. The two of them fought together in three organized raids across two continents, and two more skirmishes back in South East Asia and somehow survived. He feels fondness spread in his chest for his younger friend, but also worry. Yuuri can’t help but worry that tomorrow is when their luck runs out. He finishes brushing his teeth and does not voice his thoughts. It must be that damn dream making him think that way. He splashes water over his face and towels it off. He excuses himself to go to the toilet and when he steps out, Phichit is waiting for him.

They start walking towards the dining hall in silence, Phichit throwing occasional glances at him. Yuuri looks at him questioningly.

“Is everything, okaay?” Phichit finally asks.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” Yuuri shots back. Except for the war looming over their heads and the upcoming battle tomorrow; that he lefts unsaid.

“You seem a little bit out of it this morning.”

“I'm okay.” When Phichit keeps staring at him, the Japanese hesitantly adds, “It's nothing, really…It’s just,”—he runs his hand through his hair again—“I had a nightmare—I know, it’s silly. I’m good. I mean it!” He is well aware that he is rambling.

Phichit doesn’t look convinced. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuuri contemplates the offer for a moment before jerkily shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” Phichit insists.

Yuuri nods.

“Okay,” his friends says simply and Yuuri feels gratitude. Phichit knows him—knows when to push and when to step back. Yuuri wonders for the n-th time what he did to deserve his friendship and loyalty. They continue to walk in silence through the fluorescent-lit corridors, occasionally passing other soldiers walking back to the barracks. Some distance ahead of them, a person rounds the corner. Yuuri registers the short figure, a mop of brown slightly wavy hair before Phichit shouts out, waving enthusiastically.

“Guang Hong!”

When the Chinese turns around to look at them, his head gets cleanly cut off, toppling to the floor, his face frozen in an eternal look of surprise, blood spurting aggressively out of his neck. There is a horrified, anguished scream from somewhere, followed by gun fire, and Yuuri staggers to a stop, hands grasping against the wall as he tries to steady himself, a high pitch sound resounding in his head. The corridor sways in his vision.

When he blinks, Guang Hong is still there, _still_ in one piece. Yuuri can see him saying something to Phichit before his eyes swipe past the Thai to land on him.

“Yuuri?” the brunette asks with worry.

Phichit turns around to look at him, his face filled with confusion before being replaced with panic.

“Yuuri?!” Phichit runs up to him. “What’s wrong—are you okay?”

Yuuri stands up straight, waving off his friends’ concern.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m sorry…vertigo,” he replies lamely and he doesn’t need to look to know that Phichit sends him an incredulous look.

Guang Hong says with hesitation, “You…don’t look well. Do you want to go to the infirmary?” That was Guang Hong speech for ‘ _you look like shit’_. There was still hope for him though. He must not seem that bad otherwise the Chinese would have frog marched him to the medical bay himself.

“No, no. I’m fine. Really!” To prove his point he goes ahead of them. He doesn’t see Guang Hong and Phichit exchanging skeptical glances before following him.

 _What is wrong with me,_ Yuuri thinks, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides trying to banish the disturbing image from his head. He is so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice that they have arrived at the mess hall until the smell of breakfasts wafts at the edges of his senses.

Also known as the Grub, the dining facility is roughly the size of a football field, all grey and depressing with hundreds of silver metal tables and benches enhancing the coldness of the room. In spite of the less than welcoming feel of the room, the soldiers still milling around are engaged in loud conversations. The Grub is still pretty busy, loud with chatter and occasional shout or laugh. As if they weren’t all going towards their deaths the following day. To the side is a row of food stations reminiscent of a school cafeteria where a staff of cooks and volunteer soldiers with blanks looks deck out the food to the starving masses of recruits. The brass, instructors and other officers have their own mess hall a few buildings down. Phichit, Yuuri and Guang Hong head over to line up for the food when there is a loud crash, followed by a louder stream of profanities and shouted apologies. Yuuri flinches, eyes shutting closed, which doesn’t go unnoticed by his two companions.

Guang Hong looks over at the commotion where a tall, bulky female is still shouting at a shorter figure with half dyed blond and brown hair as they try to bow in frantic apology.

“It’s Kenjiro,” says Guang Hong looking between Yuuri and Phichit, and back to the other soldier, biting his lower lip unconsciously. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

Phichit nods but doesn’t follow, choosing to lead Yuuri towards the food line. Yuuri watches as Guang Hong jogs up to Kenjiro Minami, another of the Japanese recruits, who is now trying to clean up the mess off the floor. They converse for a little bit before Guang Hong runs off, presumably to find a mop or a broom. Yuuri looks away feeling only slightly guilty for not helping. He zones out for a bit, going on autopilot as he takes the tray and lets the cooks serve them up with the usual unappetizing breakfast fare: oatmeal, eggs and muffin. Yuuri vehemently shakes his head as a soldier tries to put sausage and bacon on his plate. He grabs a small bowl of pink jelly and a cup of pills, army standard vitamins and supplements to be taken twice a day, and sweeps his eye to find an empty table.

Phichit leads him away from the food stations to a table slightly away from the larger groups. They eat in mostly comfortable silence, although his friend keeps shooting him worried glances when he thinks Yuuri isn’t paying attention. The Japanese notices that Guang Hong and Minami-kun choose to sit somewhere else, Minami’s head slumped over his meal. Phichit’s gaze follows his, but he doesn’t comment, just gives him a shrug. He perks up when he catches sight of something or someone behind Yuuri.

“Seung-gil!” he waves with excitement, not unlike this morning when he spotted Guang Hong.

Seung-gil comes overs and slides into the seat across from them. He nods at Yuuri silently. Yuuri likes Seung-gil. The Korean is quiet, taciturn, a little bit intense at times, but he is a good listener and an even better mechanic. Seung-gil’s responsibility is to keep the battle suits ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. Along with other mechanics, he assists the soldiers in “suiting up,” the pre-battle procedures to make sure that everybody is strapped in correctly and that they have all the weapons, ammo, and battery that they need. Phichit engages him in light conversation, the Korean responding when asked directly, but otherwise only nodding and humming in acknowledgment. Phichit doesn’t mind and keeps up a stream of chatter. Yuuri is grateful that they don’t turn their conversation towards him. He doesn’t think he can respond properly, still plagued by the disturbing images from his dreams. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice how the conversations around him quiet down to a low murmur. Not until Phichit nudges him with his elbow. When Yuuri looks up, Phichit waves his hand to show him something. Yuuri twists around in the bench and see what caused the commotion, or more like the quietening of it.

In the entrance to the cafeteria stand a number of combat instructors including Celestino and Minako-sensei. It’s not that much of an unusual sight, but the instructors tend to keep to themselves when it comes to meal times, choosing to eat in the staff cafeteria. Yuuri figures that they are not here for the meal. He thinks Minako catches his eye and she might have sent him a smile. He is far enough that he can’t be sure. He sees her finishing her exchange with the other instructors before she walks up to the members of the J unit crowding around JJ. The other instructors disperse as well, each heading towards a different group of soldiers. The pick is seemingly random. Yuuri and Phichit exchange a shrug before going back to their meals.

Their peace is not for long, as they see the shadow of a person looming over them before a hand rests on their shoulders and a familiar face leans over between them.

“Ciao Ciao!” – “Instructor Celestino!” they both exclaim in surprise.

Celestino, or Ciao Ciao as Phichit likes to call him, is their drill Sergeant with specialization in weapon use. He trains sharpshooters but for the common people like Yuuri and Phichit he just tells them how to uncock all kinds of weaponry, where the trigger is, how to aim in the general direction of the thing you want dead, and then shoot.

“Boys, glad I found you. PT at 9:00 in the Armory—“

Phichit lets out a groan even before Celestino finishes talking. Because Yuuri actually knows better, he stays silent. Only for a second.

“Didn’t you tell us it was a rest day today?” It’s a leading question. He knows that it’s the usual protocol before organized battles. He knows that Celestino knows that it is the usual protocol before organized battles. So who came up with the idea to have them do PT at this point?

“That was before the cameras caught a group of unidentified men sneaking into the Captains’ not so secret alcohol stash.”

“If they were unidentified, why are we to blame?” Phichit asks incredulously.

“Not you directly, no. Units C, E, K, J, and Zeta. Really boys, getting caught on camera is one thing, getting caught by two Sergeants that easily identified your units, downright amateurish. Group punishment to teach you all a lesson.” Celestino sounds too cheerful about this and he isn’t one of those instructors that takes enjoyments from punishing the recruits. Yuuri would even go out on a limb and say that Celestino is fair. Most of the times.

“It’s a tradition, Ciao Ciao! What changed?” Phichit doesn’t let up.

Celestino looks briefly around before leaning down and saying in a quieter tone.

“Between you and me it’s the presence of the Brass. Even Nikiforov is here. It’s just bad timing. The General needs to show that he has a good and disciplined grip on everybody. What better way than to prance you around doing pretty drills. I’m sorry” he adds as an afterthought managing to sound sincere.

He then stands up straighter and repeats louder. “PT at 9:00.” He claps them both on their shoulders and adds “ _Ciao ciao_ ,” before leaving.

Phichit and Yuuri turn back to their table and groan in sync. Seung-gil finishes his meal and gets up. He looks at his watch on his wrist. “You two have 27 minutes 50 seconds,” and walks away. Not a minute later a disembodied voice repeats a message over the comm.

“Units C, E, K, J, and Zeta to report to the Armory at 9:00. Units C, E, K, J, and Zeta to report to the Armory at 9:00.”

“A good and disciplined grip my ass. _‘What better way than to prance you around doing pretty drills,’_ ” Phichit repeats in a frustrated voice. “Maybe by not killing us before the actual battle?”

Phichit shovels the rest of his food into his mouth. “Yuuri, now you definitely need to eat.” It sounds more like mrfmrfmrmfmrmfmrm, but Yuuri gets the gist of it.

He unenthusiastically eats the rest of his oatmeal before swallowing his pills. The food rests heavy in his stomach but he knows better than to go into training on an empty stomach. Throwing up from exhaustion is a better choice than fainting from lack of energy. He follows Phichit out of the mess hall thinking that maybe PT won’t be that bad.

* * *

PT is four hours of pure hell.

Yuuri doesn’t want to think about it as he drags himself back to the barracks. Phichit looks like a cat dragged out of a bag. Yuuri figures he doesn’t look much better. When they come back to their room, half of the unit is there groaning on their respective beds.

Yuuri grimaces as his nose is assaulted by the smell of sweaty bodies.

“This is so unfair,” Andrews groans from his bed. “Alcohol my ass. I didn’t even get a sip. I hope it was fucking worth it, Chulanont.”

“Why the fuck are you looking at me.” Phichit doesn’t usually cuss but he makes an exception for Andrews. “I had nothing to do with this.” He crawls face down onto Yuuri’s bed and doesn’t budge even when Yuuri nudges at his legs to scoot over.

“Yuuri, please don’t make me move.”

Yuuri looks at him exasperatedly but helps him out of his boots, setting them down at the side of the bed. He gets up and grabs his towel and a change of clothes.

“Go clean up. You stink,” Yuuri throws over his shoulder before stepping out of the room, soon followed by another of his unit members, Cao. Cao is silent, but not in broody way like Seung-gil. Yuuri mentally shakes his head sending an apology to his Korean friend. The Chinese keeps to himself but never turns down an offer for a conversation. Not when Mitchell wants to discuss religion, nor when Andrews wants to reminisce about football matches back in America. Or when Phichit starts gushing about his favorite movie series “The King and the Skater.” For now they’re both fine walking in silence towards the bathroom facility.

One good thing about the grueling PT is that Yuuri doesn’t have time to think about his nightmare. It all comes back to him in the shower as the water slides against his skin in warm currents. The images are not as vivid and detailed anymore, but it is hard to forget the sight of Guang Hong’s head rolling on the dirt. Yuuri rubs at his face a few times, turning off the water.

As he is dressing, Phichit comes in looking surprisingly well rested and with a suspicious grin on his face. Yuuri still distracted by his thoughts doesn’t notice until Phichit says, “Sooooo, about those posters above your bed—”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. He slaps his hands over his friend’s mouth, looking around to see if anybody was listening in.

“Phichit, aren’t you my friend? Why are you doing this?” he hisses out. He can’t see his friend’s mouth, but he can read the amusement in his eyes easily enough. Phichit grabs him by his wrists and pushes his hands off of his face.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. After all, Nikiforov is an attractive man. It explains all those regular, rustling nightly activity nois—“

Yuuri slams his hands back to Phichit’s mouth, horrified.

“What nightly—I wouldn’t—You are such a liar, Chulanont!“ Yuuri chokes out.

Phichit pushes him away laughing hard. Yuuri pulls on his shirt, grabs his stuff and stalks out of the locker room, face red with embarrassment. The door slides shut behind him, muting the sound of Phichit’s laughter. Yuuri goes back to their room, throws the dirty clothes in his laundry basket, hangs up the towel and proceeds to take off the posters in haste. He carefully folds them, following existing fold lines, before tucking them underneath his mattress. Cao smirks at him from across the room, but goes back to quietly reading his magazine. Yuuri is grateful that at least one of the members of his unit is sane.

* * *

Yuuri stares at the unappetizing tray of brown rice, white chicken, and boiled broccoli. Around him there is chatter of conversation.  He forces himself to take a bite, then another, and another. Phichit is next to him talking to Leo and Guang Hong. At some point, Seung-gil joined them with Emil in tow, Minami-kun sitting down at the far corner of the table.

Finishing up their meals, the group stands up at the same time.

“Yuuri, will you be joining us?” Yuuri looks at Phichit with confusion.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going to Leo’s to play cards.” Yuuri thinks for a second and shakes his head.

“Sorry, I’d rather –“

Phichit pats him lightly on his shoulder, cutting him off. “It’s okay. You know where to find us if you change your mind.”

Yuuri nods and watches as the group leaves. He takes a few more bites of lunch, deciding to take a walk around the base to clear his head.

The UDF has been using the Heathrow Airport as their makeshift base for the better part of the year. It was far enough from the fighting in the main continent but close enough for the military to send in smaller groups to hold off any further attacks on the western front, with Russia, China and Turkey doing the same from the east, boxing the mimics in.

Pockets of European countries still exist but some borders grew smaller over the years, like those of Russia, which was the first country to be hit by the aliens. Other countries start forming temporary alliances and combining resources, like the return of Austro-Hungary, or the establishment of CSP – union of Czech Republic, Slovakia and Poland, or the unofficial coalition of the Balkan countries, just to name a few, anything really to survive the constant threat of alien attacks.

Yuuri walks out of the mess hall, out of the building, and takes a deep breath. The sky is overcast with the promise of rain. He shakes out his muscles to warm them up, although the temperature outside is not too cold. The base manages to give both the impression of being too large and too small, crowding him in. He fights off the feeling of claustrophobia with a practice ease of somebody who has been here for a few months, beginning to walk without an actual aim. Around him soldiers buzz around, some holding boxes in their arms, others pushing carts, no doubt preparing for tomorrow.

Operation Downfall. The largest mechanized invasion in the history of mankind. That’s how the brass glorifies it in the media, through the comms, in their rousing speeches to soldiers across the globe before they send them to fight their wars while they sit back in their comfy leather swivel chairs, far away from the actual battles. Yuuri never thought of himself as a skeptic or a pessimist. His anxiety makes him doubt himself, his actions, his worth, but rarely turns around to go after other people. That is not until he joins the army. He is quickly disillusioned. He figures it out quickly enough that the only people that will save you, the only people that care enough, are your fellow soldiers—people that went through the same shit and don’t want it to happen to others. He keeps his thoughts to himself, upper management doesn’t like when you question their decision. Minako-sensei drills it into his head that there is time for arguments, but sometimes in the military it’s best to keep your mouth shut, because doing otherwise compromises something more than your own beliefs.

Yuuri understands it on a general level. The brass plays a number game, plays strategy, and sometimes they make the right decision, but sometimes they don’t and it’s the foot soldiers that pay. Pay the highest price they can.

He looks around and takes a moment to orient himself. A group runs past him in a post lunch jog. Probably not any of the units that went through PT. His muscles still scream from exertion but he makes up his mind to go exercise as well. Maybe stretch out that stiff calf before it cramps up even worse. A helicopter flies overhead and he looks up.

He catches sight of something white from above, the sun that has temporary peeked out from behind the grey clouds making it shine like a beacon to his eyes, like a lighthouse on a stormy night. He thinks it’s a person sitting down at the edge of a platform with their feet swinging from the ledge. He swallows because there is only one person in the base with such distinct coloring. He looks back down.

He really needs that training session now.

He ends up in one of the training rooms. Not many people are inside but he sees a woman with her red hair in a high ponytail and a man with a black crew cut circling each other on the mat. He sees a group of soldiers observing the on-going spar. He thinks he recognizes all of them as part of the Zeta unit. How they can spar after PT he isn’t sure. But then he himself is here for some light training so maybe he shouldn’t judge.

Yuuri hesitates at the entrance, finally stepping in and taking the corner furthest away from the other group. He takes off his shoes followed by his socks. He puts them neatly against the wall and stands in the middle of his portion of the training room. PT was physically exhausting, but he can’t forget that it helped him clear his mind, even if only for a few measly hours. He does a few simple stretches, warming up his muscles, paying attention to his calf. He takes a few deep breaths centering himself before sliding into the standard army form, feet heavy, arms fisted at his side. He bumbles his way through the first few moves and kicks, mentally wincing at the messy form and also at his muscles screaming from strain.  He ignores it in favor of finding that one place in his mind where everything quiets down—his zone.

The army standard is what Yuuri thinks of as a bar fighting style. All heavy and lunging, relying on power and wide swings. It’s crude but effective, especially when you have thousands of soldiers with enhanced power courtesy of the Nikiforov jacket technology. Yuuri hates it simply because Minako-sensei hates it. After Yuuri crouches low and sweeps his left leg, tripping an invisible enemy, he gets right up, seamlessly moving right into the more familiar karate katas.

Time narrows down to the next move in the set, next exhale and inhale in time with jabs and kicks and turns. He loses himself in the imaginary fight, imaginary dance. He remembers the many times during his childhood in Minako-sensei’s dojo as he tries to escape from the jarring teases of his classmates, or the hurtful words of his then rival Nishigori Takeshi. Yuuri is now 23 and words don’t hurt him as much. He fancies he is now Nishigori’s friend. He slides effortlessly between the army standard into karate where it feels right, losing himself in the moves again. He doesn’t know how much time passes.

Suddenly a person comes into the range of his vision, lashing out with their leg. Yuuri dodges on pure instinct, smoothly moving into a counter attack. He kicks out, once high, then lower, both attacks dodged as the person faints left, goes from underneath, grabs him by the arm and throws him over their shoulder. He hits the mat with a thud, the wind knocked out of him. Minako-sensei face comes into his view as he lays there panting, suddenly feeling as if he had ran a full marathon, his muscles screaming from exhaustion. He swipes the back of his hand over his eyes, feeling a few drops of sweat sliding into his mouth. He grimaces at the salty taste.

“Minako-sensei?” he rasps out

She slowly lets him go and props him up. He is stunned to see that the training room is more crowded than when he first came, everybody looking at him with various degree of surprise. Yuuri vision goes dark for a second as his body sways. He absentmindedly feels Minako rearranging his legs to bend at the knees, lightly pushing his head down between them, letting the blood slowly rush back to his head. They sit there in silence. Yuuri vaguely registers the sounds of footsteps and muted voices before there is a louder noise of a door closing.

When he feels well enough to look up, the room is empty save for the two of them.

“Yuuri, kiddo. Do you know what time it is?”

Yuuri looks around, mind sluggish.

“I—I’m not sure. “ He mulls over the question. He just finished a late lunch. His walk around the base couldn’t have taken that long either. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two since then.

“It’s 18:00. From what Mila said, it sounds like you’ve been at it for the past four hours.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen.

“That can’t be—“ Minako bops him over the head with her fist, cutting him off.

 _“Itai!”_ he exclaims.

Minako also switches to Japanese, her words registering better in his head than English.

_“You went through hell of a PT session this morning. What gave you the bright idea to go through another four hours of torture? I thought I taught you to take better care of your body.”_

Yuuri hangs his head.

 _“Come on_ ,” Minako coaxes him up. “Up! Let’s go through some light stretches.”

They go through the movements in silence, Minako occasionally helping him stretch a little bit further.

“Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?” she asks. Yuuri thinks back to Phichit’s offer from the morning and shakes his head. Minako lets out a sigh, not even trying to hide it.

“Such troublesome kid,” she mutters under her breath. “Go shower, eat, stretch some more before bed and go to sleep. No alcohol, get it!?” She slaps him on the back for emphasis.

Yuuri only smiles. “Thank you, _sensei_.”

She walks with him some distance. Before they split up, she pulls him into a quick hug.

 _“Survive_ ,“ she tells him before letting go. She doesn’t wait for him to respond and he watches her walk away, ponytail swaying behind her.

 _“I will try_ ,” Yuuri responds even though nobody is there to hear.

Yuuri manages to drag himself back to the barracks, take a quick shower and collapse on his bed. He drags himself out of it minutes later to dig out a ration bar from his drawer, eating it in a few bites while doing his stretches, falling back to his bed right after.

He falls into a fitful sleep. He briefly wakes up when the rest of the unit comes back. He catches sight of Phichit through his half open lids. His friends looks worried. He reaches down to tuck him back in the covers before disappearing up the ladder. Yuuri hears the bed springs above his head as his friend makes himself more comfortable.  Somebody turns off the lights but Yuuri is already asleep. Thankfully, he doesn’t dream.

* * *

Seung-gil helps him into his exosuit. Yuuri moves his bionic arm, flexing his gloved hand around the stick, recalibrating the main language on the display screen to Japanese. English is like his first language by now, but in battle when a split second determines whether you live or die, Yuuri learned that he stills reacts faster to his native language. He winces as he feels pain in his muscles, the soreness leftover from yesterday’s training.

Seung-gil finishes closing down the latches.

“Safety?”

“Check,“ Yuuri responds while flipping through the menu.

“Comm?”

Yuuri lets his helmet visor go down and sees Seung-gil patching in.

“One, two, three? Yuuri, do you copy?” Seung-gil’s voice comes clear through the headsets in the helmet.

“One, two, three, loud and clear, Seung-gil.”

The Korean gives him a thumbs up. Yuuri pushes a button at the side of his neck and the helmet opens up again. Yuuri takes a deep breath and looks to the right where Phichit is already fitted in his suit. The Thai meets his gaze and gives him a smile which he easily returns. This routine is familiar.

“Hey,” Seung-gil calls to him. Yuuri looks back and sees the mechanic staring at his face, his gaze intense and so Seung-gil.

The Korean extends a fist in front of him. “Come back safe. Both of you,” he adds turning to Phichit who sends him a bright smile. Yuuri knocks Seung-gIl’s fist lightly with his own in a silent response.

* * *

They are flying towards the front over the English Channel. Yuuri tries to calm his beating heart that feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest anytime now. His body in the exosuit is swaying lightly in its metallic harness attached to the interior of the dropship. He looks around taking in the sight of his unit. He can see and hear Mitchell murmuring prayers on his right side. He can see Phichit across from him, eyes closed. Yuuri can’t place the feeling but there is a gnawing sense of worry at the bottom of his stomach.

Captain Farrell is at the front talking to the pilots. Cao catches his eyes from one of the other passenger cradles and tries to smile. It comes out as more of a grimace. Yuuri weakly smiles back. There is something wrong with this scene, he thinks. An itch of déjà vu at the back of his mind, annoying—persisting—worrying.

He sees Captain Farrell turn around to face them. Their eyes meet and Yuuri’s vision sways. He sees Farrell opening his mouth, words forming but cutoff by a cacophony of noises. Something explodes at the side of the plane. He feels the lurch, hears the screech of metal against metal as a metal beam pierces through the side of plane. He registers the shouts and cursing of his unit, and then another explosion throws them forward. Those who did not get hit have their bodies thrown around in the harness like lifeless dolls. Phichit is shouting something at him as the bottom of the plane opens up before the whole aircraft lurches one more time.

Yuuri shakes himself out of the vision. Captain Farrell still has his back to them. Phichit’s eyes are still closed.

“You okay there, Katsuki?” Andrew asks him gruffly from across.

Yuuri ignores him, twisting his head back to the front of the plane.

“Captain Farrell! Captain Farrell!”

When the other man turns around to look at him, Yuuri shouts, “This ship is about to explode! We have to—“

He doesn’t get to finish. Something explodes against the side of the plane, and Farrell is thrown to the side. There are screams as a metal beam pierces the side of the plane, narrowly missing the captain and soldiers at the front. Somebody screams through the noise.

“Open the hatch!”

Yuuri desperately watches as the bottom of the plane opens up. He is horrified to see burning planes, tens or hundreds of other soldiers dropping down to the ground that is _still too far away_. Around him his unit members disengage from the safety harnesses one by one, dropping down, disappearing from the plane that starts lurching in the air without control. Their exosuits are still attached to the dropship by the safety chords.

“Yuuri, you have to drop!” Phichit shouts right before he pushes the safety lock and drops like a rock.

Yuuri sends a final look around the plane. He and Cao are the only one left on the plane but he realizes shortly after that Cao Bin won’t be going anywhere, a jagged piece of the dropship hull stuck through his chest. Yuuri wants to cry but he bottles the feeling inside his chest, because _he can’t die now_ , and punches the safety latch, immediately dropping to the ground below. For a moment he feels weightless. The feeling is gone and his stomach lurches to his throat. Yuuri flaps his arms around, panicking. He barely registers as a body is flung past him, still attached by the safety chord to a plane that is trying to maneuver around a swarm of mimics. The sound of explosions from below bring him back to reality. He has a moment to gauge the leftover distance, training and sheer sense of survival kicking in, before he braces his body for impact, stance heavy.

He hits the ground with a thud, earth and dirt flying up around him. The Jacksuit absorbs most of the impact but he can still feel it reverberate through his whole body.

Around him is pure chaos of machine guns firing, and people screaming. Communication is radio silent, no orders coming through the comms. Two mimics bursts out of the ground and Yuuri _reacts._ He jumps back, avoiding the first attack, engages his guns and fires a barrage of bullets through the machines. He takes a second to make sure that they are dead before he is running. Ahead of him a group of soldiers stand back to back killing any mimic that come close. He steers clear of their shooting path choosing to go right. In the distance a lone soldier is fighting off a mimic with his bare hands, the rifle already detached from the suit, presumably having ran out of ammunition. He wrestles it off of himself and throws it into the dirt.

Yuuri takes aim with his precision gun and fires, managing to hit the mimic as it was gearing to slam back into the other person. Yuuri sees as they turn toward him, eyes crazed with panic. Guang Hong, Yuuri thinks. A split second later, a mimic comes out of nowhere and slashes his friend’s head off of his neck. Guang Hong’s face is frozen in morbid surprise before his head rolls to the ground.

Yuuri screams and unloads the rest of his bullets into the mimic. He can see his vision blurring with unshed tears. Somebody runs past him nearly toppling him to the ground. He rights himself, a few choice words escaping from his mouth. The figure falls down on the ground near Guang Hong’s corpse, screaming in anguish. Yuuri wipes his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, recognizing the figure as Leo. He lumbers towards them, reloading his weapons and grabs Leo by his arms.

“We have to go!” he shouts out. “We have to!”

The brunette is openly crying, still reaching out his hands downwards as if trying to grab Guang Hong’s body.

“Leo, please!” Yuuri begs.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri’s knees buckle in relief. He turns his head to the left and sees Phichit running towards him, sweaty with hair clinging to his forehead. Yuuri sees dirt and blood smudged over his friend’s face, but he otherwise looks unharmed.

“Phichit! Guang Hong is—“

Phichit spares a glance at what’s left of their friend, face twisting into an expression of pain before it is replaced by determination. Yuuri takes a second to marvel at his friend’s strength.

“We need to go. Now. Yuuri you take Leo. I’ll clear the way.”

“Where are we going?!” Yuuri shouts, dragging Leo behind him who follows him lifelessly.

“I don’t know! Somewhere—anywhere! Just away from here! This whole mission was a mistake!”

Yuuri nods even though his friend can’t see him. He turns around to take a look at Leo. His friend looks catatonic, already half-dead, gaze staring blankly ahead. Yuuri again pushes the image away. He can’t get distracted now. If they survive today, he will mourn. But until then…He turns back and sees Phichit reaching up and yanking a mimic from above him down to the ground. He places an armored knee to hold the monster down before unloading a few bullets point blank into the creature’s illuminated brain.

Yuuri blinks and sees his friend get up and take a few steps forward. Out of the ground, tentacles shot out and pierce right through Phichit, his body convulsing from the force before slumping onto the extended arms of the mimic. His vision sways again.

Before he fully registers it his body is already moving into action. Yuuri shouts, letting go of Leo’s hand. He runs ahead where Phichit is just about to get up. Before his friend can react, he pushes him away with all the force he can muster. The Thai twists his body midair to look back, his face shocked and confused.

Tentacles shoot out of the ground, one by one piercing through the gaps in Yuuri’s exosuit. A scream lodges itself in his throat, blood spurting out of his mouth. Yuuri feels his body held upright by the mimic’s arms in him. When they retreat out of him, he pitches over. As Yuuri’s vision fades to black, he can still make out Phichit’s horrified face. He can still see another mimic fly out of nowhere, wrapping its metallic tentacles around his best friend’s neck.

“ _Ah_ ,” Yuuri thinks. “ _Our luck has finally run out.”_

He is dead even before his body hits the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for reading the first chapter!!!  
>  ~~  
> I've been meaning to write this story for a while now but hesitated to post until I had a solid outline. I've (tentatively) decided to make this my NaNoWriMo challenge piece and hopefully finish it so I can move on to other things. I'm going to spend October fleshing things out and have a regular update schedule in November.~~  
>  e.d. 10/25/17 apologies. RL is hitting me pretty hard right now. I will still work to have the 2nd chapter up in November. 
> 
> This story is inspired by the movie _Edge of Tomorrow_ but will have elements from its book counterpart _All You Need is Kill_. I'm no military buff so please don't hesitate to let me know if I'm using military jargon in a wrong way. Research can only get you so far, after all.


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